Drover's Drabbles: Sisters are doing it for themselves
by shipperatheartrealistbynature
Summary: A collection of McLeod's Daughters drabbles, vignettes and ficlets. Mostly K, T at most. First chapter: Tess and Claire have been forging their relationship as sisters pretty much from scratch over the last few months. They both have some thoughts to share during one of their late night chats.


**Drover's Drabbles: Sisters are doing it for themselves**

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 **Title** : Sense & Sensibility

 **Spoilers:** Takes place after episode 1x15 (If the boot fits) but no spoilers (only references to minor details)

 **Summary** : Tess and Claire have been forging their relationship as sisters pretty much from scratch over the last few months. They both have some thoughts to share during one of their late night chats.

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 **Author's Notes** :

Hello, anybody there? I've been away for YEARS, doing...life stuff, and also: The Muse inexplicably crapped out on me and turned into a zombie. This spring I started watching McLeod's Daughters and, magically, a couple of drabbles and stories started trickling out of my brain. So basically, this is me writing again after a VERY long hibernation. I will add to this collection of vignettes as I gingerly stretch my writing muscles again. If (a big if...) smut happens (but I do hope so!) then I'll post that separately so readers who are not into that can easily skip them because I'm not sure yet what the mileage is in this fandom. Even though this was posted without the benefit of a beta I hope that you will enjoy reading as much as I'm enjoying writing again.

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"The family of McLeod had long been settled in the Gungellan region. Their estate was large, and their residence was at Drover's Run, in the center of their property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance."

 _(Opening line of Jane Austen's Sense & Sensibility, with only 3 details replaced)_

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It's become our thing: evening chats.

Days on Drover's are a rollercoaster, I've found in these last few months since I've arrived here—it starts at dawn and it's a wild ride until dusk, everyone working on the farm like a maniac. A few hours of sleep and then the merry-go-round starts its frantic pace all over again.

It's been a steep learning curve for me and a constant struggle not to let Claire's slights deter me from learning the ropes. It's not until the evenings, after dinner, that things start to slow down a bit—well, enough to have a proper conversation anyway.

Even after a long day working together and eating supper together, Claire and I still find ourselves drawn together most evenings, steadily forging a relationship as sisters and even friends after almost a lifetime spent apart. When she finally stops taunting me for being an amateur long enough to let me get to know her, it turns out there's a pretty amazing woman in there—the kind that has no idea how amazing she is.

Though technically we are only half-sisters, I've never seen Claire as anything other than my sister. Even after a long separation, there's been an immediate kinship between us that we both crave—need. The kind you can't find with anyone else. I know we both feel it, even though we both struggle to put it on the line, still wrestling the demons of abandonment issues and rejection anxiety—just because my head can recognise it for what it is, doesn't mean my heart can simply let it go.

Who knew someone like Claire—a loner most of her life, according to Meg—would grow accustomed to these evening conversations, even seeking them out?

As I was learning about the farm life, hard work and the weight of responsibility for all these animals, we've gotten to know each other. We've fought, named stars, struggled for dominance, struggled full stop, but also found comfort in one another occasionally. It started from humble beginnings, with tentative and sometimes awkward conversations as we each sought, found, and pushed the boundaries of this fledging relationship.

There's a sort of quiet comfort in our chats on the veranda, in the bathroom, or shuffling across the hall in PJs to linger a bit longer in one of our bedrooms, while the low lighting creates a cosy, safe bubble for personal questions and stories.

Tonight it's Claire who lingers in the bathroom when we're brushing teeth, hovers around my door and finally pads in softly on bare feet when I motion for her to come on in, curious to know what's on her mind.

Decked out in flannel, Claire finds a spot on the mattress, leans back against the railing at the foot of the bed with her arms around her knees. When she fidgets with her fingertips like that, I've noticed it usually means she has something to say that she's a little anxious about.

While I brush my hair, I wait patiently for her to start talking instead of filling the silence with my easy chattering. My lingering by the vanity makes it easier for her to share her thoughts, I'm sure. I've found that it's more difficult for Claire to share confidences when people are close to her personal space. The physical distance feels safer for her. We'll work on that—but for now, I can be patient.

Not for the first time it seems like a tragedy to me that Claire has been brought up so differently from me: Taught to hold it all in, never open up about your feelings, your pain, vulnerability or insecurity. No one taught her that it was okay to let someone just be there for you, support you, and comfort you.

"You know, I admire you, Tess."

 _What? Okay, I didn't see THAT coming…_

The hairbrush has stilled in its place, mid-strand. I'm about to start laughing when I realize she means it.

"When you first arrived you didn't know anything about how a cattle station runs. You didn't grow up on a farm like I did but look at you now; you'd never know the difference anymore."

She breaks into a smile that is warm and genuine. "I'd leave you in charge of the farm for a day anytime, Tess." Claire gives me an earnest look to underline her expression of trust. And by now, I know full well how precious a gift that is when it comes to Drover's.

The brush drops to my side—and almost to the floor. What have I done to deserve this?

It is the highest possible praise coming from my ridiculously capable sister, and my eyes prick a little at that so I duck my head to hide it, which is ironic considering my thoughts a few moments before.

However, it's been harder than I like to admit to myself, being here and not knowing how to do anything. It's been hard with Claire's constant teasing about my ineptness, when all I wanted was to bond with my sister after almost a lifetime spent apart. All those years I spent missing her, and yet we've had a rough start. Until about five seconds ago, I wasn't sure I was more than merely _tolerated_ as a contributor.

Perhaps even more so than when Claire gave me my first proper pair of work boots, my heart leaps hearing Claire say that, finally feeling _accepted_ for the first time since I've arrived.

Claire has even more to say. "You've become as capable as any jillaroo around here, but..."

My face is splitting in a delighted smile and I lift my head to show Claire that. It's obvious that she has put a lot of thought into this, and makes the effort to speak from her heart. It deserves my whole-hearted attention _and_ appreciation.

Feeling too much distance between us, I cross the room to join her on the bed and sit down on the mattress close to her feet.

A beat of hesitation tells me that the next part is what has really been keeping Claire's mind occupied, and fuelled her stalling before she came to talk to me. She pulls on her finger nervously. "You also know how to still be _a girl_."

Her small frown betrays that she's still slightly befuddled by the concept, even though I've seen small changes under my not-so-gentle prodding.

I'm not sure I understand what she means by that, whether she means my personality or the way I dress or how differently I interact with the men in her life. Probably all of those things. I'm open, trusting, I demonstrate my affection, and I'm just as comfortable in jeans by day as in a dress in the evening.

Claire grew up around all men all the time; the only thing she learned since childhood was how act like one of the guys. She never learned how to flirt properly—while to me, it is second nature, something that happens almost without conscious effort. On the other hand, I don't command their respect the way my sister does with her skills.

I quietly nod my appreciation for my big sister's compliment, but the self-deprecating commentary that's hiding inside it is not lost on me, so I respond to the latter part of what she said because it feels like that's what Claire needs to hear most. "So do you. You just needed a little encouragement that you can be both."

Finding Claire's eyes, I add the emphasis, "That it's _okay_ to be both." Not giving her a chance to feel self-conscious, I add on a lighter note, "If that's not something Jack could give you, then thank bloody heaven I showed up when I did!"

There you have it: the universe's plan for us. We're both in a unique position in this particular place and time to teach each other something that no one else can.

When I start to snicker, Claire looks at me curiously and a little suspiciously.

"We're Sense and Sensibility", I observe with wonderment and a smile.

"What?"

I know Claire was never much of a reader, and it suddenly dawns on me that she didn't finish school.

"Jane Austen," I explain. "It's about two sisters who live together in the English countryside. One is a bit too serious and the other is a bit too spirited. It's when they learn from each other that they become the best version of themselves and THEN they both find happiness—and a dreamy bloke to marry of course," I round up with a grin.

Frankly, I'm not sure about the dreamy blokes around here, but who knows?

In between the lines is another message, a gentle encouragement: _If you act like more of a girl—let people in, be more gentle—it doesn't make you less admirable than you are now, it just adds to all the wonderful parts that are already there. There's nothing to be afraid of._

Nobody's perfect, certainly not me. The beauty of forming relationships with others is in changing people and letting people change you. I certainly already am—and I know I'm all the better for it.

Claire has been making a lot of headway lately in opening up about her thoughts and feelings. It even shows now in her silent acknowledgement of hearing and understanding my unspoken message. Because I'm sure the old Claire, the one I met a few months ago, would have just scoffed and walked away from me when unable to process something.

But some things _never_ change, and the competitive side of her isn't about to let her younger sister win an argument. So Claire produces what Tess has come to call the famous Claire McLeod Eye roll of Death and the lopsided mocking smile to go along with it. "You're such a _girl_!"

Yet the twinkle in her eye signals her self-mockery this time around, and she makes sure to let me see it before she scrambles up from the bed. And before she leaves the room, pokes her head around the door one more time with a goofy smile and whispers, "Goodnight..."

Only time will tell what kind of future is in store for me – and my sister – here at Drover's. But evenings like these feel like one step closer to a happy ending as Jane Austen wrote it: "and among the merits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked as the least considerable, that though sisters, and living almost within sight of each other, they could live without disagreement between themselves."

It's been quite the winding road for Jack's daughters: after a few blissful childhood years spent together at Drover's, our separation stretched for almost two decades, and my return to Drover's has certainly had a rocky start.

But...we're finding our way; we'll negotiate common ground—and who knows, maybe the universe will even throw in a couple of husbands as a bonus.

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 _End notes:_

It's never explicitly addressed in canon, but so much of McLeod's Daughters screams that it's Jane Austen, only transported to a different time and place. There's the theme of Sense & Sensibility (featured in this ficlet) and of Pride & Prejudice (Liz Ryan looking down on the Drover's girls). There is also a resemblance in the rural setting with very distinct mores and social etiquette specific to that geographical area and social class (Tess is nearly driven to desperation trying to figure out what they are, exactly). There are so many parallels, so I couldn't let it lie.


End file.
